Choices
by bagheera
Summary: It’s 1968, twenty years after the events of ‘Lord of the Flies’. The survivors reunite and travel to the island once more, to have a little ceremony for the dead ones. But then, unforeseen things happen...
1. Erase Rewind

****

You've got the choice. 

****

Disclaimer : All characters except Simon's brother belong to William Golding, whom I deeply admire. No offence intended. 

****

Warnings: Everyone who was able to read the book without being scarred for life will be able to read this, too. That means: Violence, language, philosophical thoughts and angst. Probably slash ahead, as well. PG-13 - R

****

Summary: It's 1968, twenty years after the events of 'Lord of the Flies'. The survivors reunite and travel to the island once more, to have a little ceremony for the dead ones. But then, unforeseen things happen... have they learned or will the past repeat itself? 

****

Note: I started writing this almost a year after having read LotF for the first time, and a day after having seen the 90's movie, which is crap in my opinion (mostly, the actors were okay, especially Simon and Jack). But the movie triggered the fascination I held for LotF once more, so I had to write something. Sadly, I could not just write a little snippet (oh no), but once more a multi-chaptered story. Lately my inspiration is a little undependable, though, so I cannot promise to finish this. Let's hope! 

Bagheera (who would also like to excuse for any terrible grammatical errors, for she is not a native speaker!)

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ 

1 Erase Rewind

Even when the sea had long become a silent surface of glittering azure again, he still stood there, his blue eyes wide and burning. The incandescent sky was clear and peaceful as it ever would be. It bore no sign of what had happened only minutes ago, no sign of the destruction that had torn its blueness apart. 

With an eerie slowness he turned around, to the group of men standing behind him, their faces bearing similar expressions of horror and consternation. But his gaze saw none of them, it was fixed on the person who was standing behind them, his hands in the pockets of his jeans, his face grim but satisfied. Ralph clenched his fists, shaking with his whole body, his whole being, and suddenly he surged forward, hauling himself onto the man. Both fell down to the white sand of the beach with a soft thud, and they started struggling and boxing, throwing the sand around. Ralph tackled and hit him, screaming all the time. The other men stood gaping and unmoving around them. 

"You! You're insane!" Ralph yelled, straddling the man beneath him, hitting the bloodied face once more. 

"You destroyed the plane! Admit it! It was you! You're totally insane!" Everyone was listening now. The man Ralph had attacked looked at him calmly. 

"Yes. I destroyed the plane." Gasps were heard all around them. Ralph's eyes narrowed and he seized the man's neck, trying to choke him. The man grabbed his hands in an attempt to get free, but soon his face became red and his steely eyes widened. 

"It... was my... only chance!" Jack hissed. Then a pair of strong arms tore Ralph away from him. 

"You'll kill him!"

"That bastard! He crashed the plane! He wants us stuck here again! He..." Ralph struggled in the arms of Sam while Jack slowly got up. The others took a step back when he did so, still staring at him like frightened children. Once more Ralph tried to get at him. 

"You're insane!"

"I made a lot of mistakes, 20 years ago! Now is the time to rectify them!"

"You'll only repeat them."

"No. I have learned."

Jack wiped the blood away that dribbled from his nose. It smeared across his cheek, stripes of bright red. The crashing and sizzling of the waves were the only sounds, as all eyes were fixed on him. His steel-blue eyes held their gazes, hard and defiant at once. Then he turned around, taking off his jacket while he did so, walked a few steps away, up to the palm tree and flopped down in their shadows. Sam let go of Ralph and the blonde man staggered a few feet away, like a drunk. His eyes were closed, his face a mask of pain.


	2. Conversations

****

You've got the choice. 

****

Disclaimer : All characters except Simon's brother belong to William Golding, whom I deeply admire. No offence intended. 

****

Warnings: Everyone who was able to read the book without being scarred for life will be able to read this, too. That means: Violence, language, philosophical thoughts and angst. Probably slash ahead, as well. PG-13 - R

****

Summary: It's 1968, twenty years after the events of 'Lord of the Flies'. The survivors reunite and travel to the island once more, to have a little ceremony for the dead ones. But then, unforeseen things happen... have they learned or will the past repeat itself? 

****

Note: I started writing this almost a year after having read LotF for the first time, and a day after having seen the 90's movie, which is crap in my opinion (mostly, the actors were okay, especially Simon and Jack). But the movie triggered the fascination I held for LotF once more, so I had to write something. Sadly, I could not just write a little snippet (oh no), but once more a multi-chaptered story. Lately my inspiration is a little undependable, though, so I cannot promise to finish this. Let's hope! 

Bagheera (who would also like to excuse for any terrible grammatical errors, for she is not a native speaker!)

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ 

2 Conversations 

"What can we do? We don't have a radio or anything, do we?" Maurice glanced at the other men that were sitting with him in a small circle. There were Sam and Eric, who still looked very much the same, although you could easily tell them apart now: Eric had a small scar on his left eye-brow and Sam wore his sandy hair a little shorter. Both had become tall and athletic. There was Bill, in a business suit and with a nice wire-framed set of glasses, looking very much out of place on the beach of a tropical island. Then there was Johnny, once a littlun, now a student at Cambridge – or had it been Oxford?. He looked a little messy, like many students of the social sciences, his fair hair a little bit too long, his jeans faded and his shirt baggy, sporting a rainbow-coloured peace sign. But his expression was soft and intelligent. There were Robert and Harold, both about thirty and looking like men with a good enough job and a nice enough family, decent and straight and maybe a little conservative. Then, a little younger, there was Henry, who had dark hair and a stubble, bags under his eyes and a golden chain around his neck. And there was a young man, not older than 24, with a tumble of black hair and stunning bright blue eyes. They all had stared at him in shock and recognition when they had first seen him at the reunions and the airport. He was the splitting image of his brother. He looked exactly what Simon would have looked like at this age.

"All the equipment was in the plane. It's all gone."

"We'll have to wait 'til they come for us. They'll have to," Johnny said, tying back his fair hair with a ribbon. They all were hot and sweaty, even though it was already evening. 

"Fuck it," Henry cursed, fiddling with a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. "We're in the same damn mess again." Although a bit shocked by his language, they nodded. 

"Should we light a fire again?" Sam asked tentatively. "Like... back then, I mean. On the hill. A signal fire."

"Probably."

"I still can't believe it. How could he?" Harold craned his sturdy neck and looked down the beach, were Jack was lying under the palm trees, looking very much asleep. 

"He's a nutcase. A maniac. That's how," Henry mumbled. "I'd shoot him, if just I had my..."

"I don't think so." They all turned their heads. It was the first time that Daniel had raised his voice. Simon's brother was the only one who didn't look gloomy and tired. He had an air of confidence around him that was extraordinary to say the least. 

"He doesn't look mad to me."

"Ha! And what's mad to you, Danny?" Henry snorted with disbelief. 

"He doesn't look mad to me. Do you remember what he said earlier?" Maurice looked at him closely. He had already noticed that while Daniel resembled Simon a lot, there were also significant differences between them. While Simon had been a shy boy, unable to explain what he wanted to say, Daniel spoke with great clarity and confidence. And he didn't look like he might faint very soon either. 

"He said it was time to rectify his mistakes. He said he had learned. I think he might have something in his mind, some kind of plan." Henry grimaced and spat into the sand. 

"Bah! Some shit of a plan he has got! You're just as batty as your brother was." 

"Henry!" Robert gasped, embarrassed that Henry would speak of a dead person in such a way. Henry shrugged and stood up, walking towards the forest. They fell silent. After a while, somebody's stomach growled. 

"Man, I'm hungry," Eric grinned. "Somebody come and look for something to eat with me?" Sam, Robert and Harold followed him, and after a while, Bill and Johnny followed. Maurice was hungry, too, but he stayed with Daniel. The young man was calmly observing the horizon, where night was falling rapidly. Maurice rolled his jacket together and laid down, bedding his head on the clothing. The first flickering stars were appearing on the velvety sky, while the small clouds still were rimmed with gold and copper from a far away sunset. It was not just his dreams and memories that had made this place beautiful and magical. It was dreamlike, perfect. It was paradise, like in the movies, like some holiday resort. It had that unreal quality. Was Daniel right? Did Jack really have a greater purpose when he crashed the plane that morning? But even if he had, it was some twisted purpose, and Jack was not to trust. He turned his head. He could see some other men, farther down the beach, and he could still make out the shadow that was Jack, still lying quietly under the palm trees. They were about twenty men on the island. Almost all of the surviving biguns and quite a few former littluns. Where had they all gone? Where was Ralph? What would they do, when the next morning would come?

++++

__

It will really help you to come to a closure, his psychologist had said. 

It will be nice to see your friends again, his wife had said, not knowing that there were not any friends. 

It will be a lovely holiday, his boss had said, totally unaware of the situation. 

Will you bring me a shell, Daddy? Like the one you told me about? His daughter Lizzie had asked. 

Oh, what a fool he had been. Ralph should have known that there was nothing good in coming here. He should have known, and still he had come here. He had not wanted to, but he had also been unable to refuse. He had drifted along, right into disaster. He could have screamed until his throat would be sore. All his nightmares, all his secret fears and ugly memories had come true. 

It had all started with a letter from Maurice, one of the boys, last September. Maurice had written to him, asking him if he wanted to come to a 'reunion' of the boys who had been on the island. He had wanted to burn the letter, to tell nobody about it, but then he had told his psychologist, and the man had said that it might really be worth a try, that maybe he needed to resurface the memories that had caused his trauma. 

So he had gone there, ready to leave as soon as he could. It had been a meeting in a nice restaurant in London, not too expensive, and very quiet. Many of the men he had not recognised, and he had been happy about that. But everybody seemed to recognise him. Some, like Maurice and the twins, behaved like nothing had ever happened, like they were old buddies. Some, like Robert and Harold, ignored him shamefully. And then this young man, just looking at him hurt. Simon. Daniel. Jack wasn't there.

They talked about a lot of rubbish, their jobs, their families, where they lived and so forth. Nothing about the island. Then they met again, and again he went. But that time, Maurice, who seemed to have had that in mind all along, suggested talking about the island. So they did. Agreeing that everything had been wrong and terrible – and an accident. Yes, really. They had only been children after all. Tragic, and very sad, but unavoidable. Tragic, really. 

And then, the fateful decision. One of the younger men, Percival, was the son of the owner of a flying school, and he, too, was a pilot. They decided that they would try to find the island and go there, and maybe have a little ceremony for the 'victims'. Simon and Piggy. And the little boy with the mulberry mark, someone added. 

Why had he come along?

__

It will really help you to come to a closure, his psychologist had said. 

It will be nice to see your friends again, his wife had said, not knowing that there were not any friends. 

It will be a wonderful holiday, his boss had said, totally unaware of the situation. 

Will you bring me a shell, Daddy? Like the one you told me about? His daughter had asked. 

They were your friends. Your only friends on that island. They deserve it, his conscience had said. 

And so he had been on that plane. Only when they had started, he had noticed Jack. Jack, who had never been at any of their meetings. 

'Why is he here?' he had asked Maurice frantically. 

'He phoned me, said that he had somehow heard of our plan to go there. Said he wanted to come along. Said it was his duty. I think... I really think he's sorry for what he did. What we all did. Except you, of course...'

Ralph might almost have believed it. Jack had looked different. His sandy hair was short and neat, he wore simple, normal clothes, and he looked very calm. Not at all like the bold, arrogant boy he had been. 

They made it to the island in the plane, a big thing, one of those planes which can land on the water, and from the plane they had taken a rubber dinghy to the beach, a wreath of white flowers with them, to lay them on the beach. They hadn't even planned to stay over night, had not taken any equipment with them. Jack had been one of the last to reach the shore. Only seconds later, a huge ball of fire exploded, where once the plane had rocked peacefully on the waves. A bomb. It slowly filtered through Ralph's panicked mind, now that he replayed the events in his thoughts, that Jack must have planned this all along. 

Why? There were answers, lurking in his mind, that were all terrible and frightening and insane. Jack had always wanted to stay on the island. He had loved being a savage. Jack had maybe always wanted to come back. They had given him a perfect chance to repeat it all. 

__

'I made a lot of mistakes, 20 years ago! Now is the time to rectify them!'

What had he meant by that? Ralph lay shivering under the palm trees, curled into a ball on the perfect white sand, trying his best not to break down. 

'Remember that you were children,' his psychologist always said. 'Remember that you're an adult now. It will not happen again. You're living with civilised people. They are not your enemies. You know that we're not your enemies, don't you?'

Civilised people. Maybe. But not here. This place was made to destroy civilisation. 

"Why don't you talk to him? If you're afraid, why don't you talk about it?"

Ralph jumped, scrambling away from the voice. But it was only Daniel who stood before him and now leant down. The pale moonlight glistened beautifully on the waves and the white crowns of foam that were carried to the shore by them. Everything was peaceful. Ralph wrapped his arms around his knees, looking into the distance. Daniel sat down next to him. 

"Do you know how your brother died?" he asked suddenly, shocked by his own words. But Daniel nodded quietly.

"I do."

"How?" Ralph was surprised. They had never, ever told anyone of Simon's and Piggy's fate. He had wanted to, but he had never brought up the courage to do so. 

"Maurice told me, when we first met."

"Maurice."

"He said he needed to tell me. He also said that you all needed to talk about it. He says that if you don't digest the memories you have, they'll suffocate you."

"Is he a psychologist?" Ralph asked dryly. 

"He's a reporter."

"Aren't you afraid?"

"Afraid of what?"

"Afraid of us. We killed your brother."

"No. I believe Jack."

"Jack?" Ralph stared at the young face next to him. Daniel smiled gently. 

"I believe that you have learned. That's what he's said. That he has learned."

"Just what is it that he has learned? Because I have learned too, you know? I have learned that we're all killers. Either killers or victims. That is all we are. Either hunters or prey."

"Maybe." Daniel still smiled. "But we have the choice to become either a killer or a prey, don't you think so? Maybe he has learned that. That you have the choice."

"Some of us don't have the choice. Piggy didn't. Your brother didn't."

"Yes, but think about it. If they had had the choice, what would they have chosen?"

Ralph fell silent. Daniel had not known Piggy and he probably could barely remember Simon. How could he still be so right about them? Because Simon would never have been a hunter. Piggy... he didn't know about Piggy. Piggy had on the one hand desperately longed to be one of them, and maybe he would have been a hunter just so that they would have accepted him. But on the other hand he had always called them 'kids' and 'stupid' for what they did. He had been the voice of reason. Ralph wanted to believe that Piggy would not have chosen being a hunter. 

"And you, Ralph, you could have been a hunter so easily. But you chose to be a prey. And think about it. You're all adults now. Isn't that what it means to be an adult? Knowing how to make choices, how to choose carefully and intelligently?" Ralph looked at him for a very long time, debating that idea in his mind. Then he shook his head. 

"You're very different from Simon. Simon knew the truth. He knew that we are the beast."

"But don't you have the power to control yourselves?" Daniel got up, a darker shadow against the dark of the night. 

"Don't be afraid. Think about it. What good has fear ever been to you? Fear is what undid you, back then." He walked away, slowly, unafraid of the dark. 

Ralph bit his lip. He was alone again. He prayed to a force that he did not believe in, that they would never see who was right, Simon or his brother. That they would be rescued, before the truth would show itself. 

"Don't be afraid, that's exactly what I wanted to say to you. Funny, isn't it?" Someone said behind him. Ralph stopped breathing and closed his eyes. Jack. Jack had come for him. He heard him walking in the sand, around him until he was very close, and then he sat down, right were Daniel had just been sitting, but not quite as close. Ralph had to breathe again., and it came out as a sharp gasp. 

"Don't be afraid. At least not of me." Maybe, if Ralph didn't answer, Jack would go away. He hadn't anything to say to him. But Jack obviously was quite happy with monologues. 

"I won't repeat the past." Against his will, Ralph had to laugh, a choked, disbelieving laugh. 

"That's exactly what you're doing! Repeating the past!" For the first time he looked at Jack. He couldn't see much in the dark. Jack was tall and very lean, physically not stronger than him, just as it had been when they had been children. Something had changed, though. It was the stiffness, the way Jack had always been so tense. That had gone, and the way Jack had been loud and impatient, too. It was something you often can notice when people grow up. They get calmer and more secure of themselves, and they relax a little bit. But Jack had not only become calmer, but almost too silent, like something dark and heavy was constantly in his mind. Only Ralph could not believe that it was guilt. 

"Maybe... maybe I'm trying to repeat the past... so that this time, I can do it differently.. ."

"What for? To show us how much you have changed? Great, that's not necessary at all! You haven't changed, Jack Merridew, you're still an egoistic bastard. You stranded all of us on an island, on this island, just to show us what a good boy you have become?"

"No!" For the first time Jack was upset . "To show me and you that it can be done differently! Only that. I don't matter."

"...."

"I'm sorry. I know that what I did was... is dangerous and ... maybe not the right way to do it... I just... did you ever think about how you could have done it differently? What you could have done that maybe it all wouldn't have happened? Didn't you replay and replay in your mind, ever and ever again, all the events... asked yourself what you did wrong? Why it has ended this way? It was actually pretty easy for me... I was the reason why it ended this way."

"..."

"Right after the island... I did not feel this way. I didn't feel guilty... only a little afraid, that somebody might... find out what I have done. What we have done. That the adults would know. I knew that what I had done was wrong, but I did not feel that way. But later.... when I grew older... I changed a lot... and I met a lot of people... people who believed in mankind, who were so hopeful... so ... did you ever meet that kind of people? Who think that if we only work hard for it, we'll all be happy? World peace and love for everyone? And I realised that I could not feel that way... because of what I have done, what we have done... and that question was always there, nagging at me... did we do what we did, because we couldn't do anything else? Were we evil? Or could it have been otherwise?"

Ralph found that he was listening raptly, even though he hadn't wanted to. 

"It scared me, you know? When I was in love for the first time, really in love, I started to ask myself... started to ask myself how it would be if that person died. And I realised what it meant, really meant, when a person dies... when a person is killed... and I could not stay with the one I loved, because I always imagined... imagined killing her... because I couldn't do anything else, because I was evil... I needed to know. I needed to know if I had changed. If I could do it differently... ."

"I want to be your friend. I wanted to be your friend back then. I still want it."

Ralph did not answer, once again he was unable to breathe. What he had just heard was not the Jack Merridew he had known. Such deep thoughts... such doubts and fears.... he could not tell him, but Jack had already changed. 

"I used to think about you. I thought that I might go and visit you, wherever you were... that I might tell you all of these thoughts, because if there was one person who might understand them... it would be you."

"I don't understand you." Not at all. 

"But I would like you to understand me."

"And I'd like to be at home, with my wife and my daughter! Fuck, but if you need a therapy, then go and visit some psychologist!"

"Oh, I did." A bird hummed sleepily in the dark of the rain forest. Somewhere down the beach, a man laughed loudly. The waves brushed the sand in exactly the same way they always had. Men would change, but this place would never. "And what did he tell me? That of course these events had been traumatic, but that I should not forget that we had been children. That of course, a group of children can not live without adults. That I was not responsible for what had happened. That I should regard those deaths as accidents. That it would be highly irrational to think of our group of children as a valid representation of a civilised society. That my fears are irrational ... blah, blah... ."

Ralph buried his face in the sweaty insides of his hands. What Jack had just said was a word by word recitation of his own psychologist. He needed a cigarette, really, even though he had stopped smoking four years ago, when Lizzie was born. Damn. Damn it all.

"But they weren't there, were they?" he whispered. 


	3. Jack's story

****

You've got the choice. 

****

Disclaimer : All characters except Simon's brother belong to William Golding, whom I deeply admire. No offence intended. 

****

Warnings: Everyone who was able to read the book without being scarred for life will be able to read this, too. That means: Violence, language, philosophical thoughts and angst. Slashy themes as well. Rating is PG-13 - R 

****

Summary: It's 1968, twenty years after the events of 'Lord of the Flies'. The survivors reunite and travel to the island once more, to have a little ceremony for the dead ones. But then, unforeseen things happen... have they learned or will the past repeat itself? 

****

Note: That Ralph is married with child does not mean that there isn't going to be anything between him an Jack. And as for Roger – read this chapter. 

This story is probably not going to be as good as my last one. It's not as original (I'm beginning to think I'm repeating a lot of what was going on in 'I am here'). But I like writing it, as I like to imagine the different characters and what has become of them. I like inventing their histories, like Jack's for example. 

Bagheera (who would also like to excuse for any terrible grammatical errors, for she is not a native speaker!)

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

3 Jack's story 

Suckling at the tip of his ball-pen, Maurice overlooked the beach. How to describe the infinite beauty of this place? So sweet, with the sun rising in a blaze of soft light, so chaste with the sand white as snow, so fresh with the palm-trees slowly waving in the breeze, so like at the beginning of time, with the small waves rolling up the beach, crowned with light. But he had not come here to describe the wonderful setting. He looked at what he had already written, since the sun had begun to rise an hour ago. Seven pages, scribbled hastily, in which he described the events of the day before, the plane crashing, Jack and Ralph fighting, the men scattering on the beach. And before these pages, there were already pages and pages in which he described their meetings. A whole diary for the little group of men. 

Somebody came walking from the part of the island where the little river was, carrying four halves of empty coconuts, obviously filled with water that spilled every now and then when the man staggered in the sand. It was Johnny, his longish hair still tied back but a lot more ruffled than the day before. The baggy shirt he wore flapped in the breeze from the sea and he squinted at the sun. Maurice closed the booklet. 

"I brought some water," he offered and Maurice gratefully took on of the shells, drinking thirstily. 

"Thanks. You're up early."

"You, too. A bird woke me up. What are you writing?"

"A kind of journal. I started writing it when we started our first meetings. It's about... well, us." Johnny sat down with his legs crossed. Maurice noticed that he didn't wear his shoes anymore. 

"Somehow this is fascinating, don't you think so, too? On a completely scientific level, of course. I mean, this group of men, stranded on an island. It's like a real life experiment, only that it is real." He shook his head. "My professors would love to hear about that. I could even write my Ph.D. about it."

"You're studying philosophy? That's nice. When I finished school I couldn't quite decide between becoming a reporter or studying sociology or philosophy. So you're writing on your Ph.D.?" Johnny smiled and tugged a strand of hair behind his ear. 

"Actually I was just... relaxing a little. You know, there's a lot going on at the universities, right now. I thought about doing a trip to the U.S., when you phoned me about the reunion. And there's also some friends who want to create a 'commune' where people can live and work freely.... ."

"Really? Well, it seems you might get your commune right here and now."

"Hm.. were you planning to write an article about this?"

"No. I just wrote it down, because I have to write, so I can think about it. But this is way too private to give it to the public."

"Where are the others, by the way?" Johnny looked around, spotting four or five of the men sleeping under the palm trees at the edge of the forest. 

"We should probably call everyone together, when we're all up."

"You think so?" Maurice pocketed his pen. The younger man looked at him with surprise. "If we do that, we'll have a meeting. Things will be decided, just like when we were kids. We could also just wait for rescue. Maybe it is easier and less dangerous not to create a 'community' at all."

"I didn't think about that." Johnny scratched the blonde stubble that was appearing on his chin. 

"But do you really think it's dangerous? The past won't repeat itself. Especially not after we've already been through this once." Maurice shrugged and nodded. 

"Only a thought."

+++

But by the time everyone got up, they assembled by themselves, coming together in little groups, then finally meeting in the shadow of the palm trees. Everyone was carefully avoiding to speak for the group, rather they walked around, or talked to their neighbours. Even Ralph had come, and now sat at the edge of the group, silent and cautious. Daniel, who was sitting next to Maurice and Johnny, noticed how he looked weary and pale, like someone who hasn't slept well. He also looked older than most of the men, not only because he was the oldest, but also because he was a little to gaunt, and his face a little more lined than theirs. 

Jack had come too, and although he was not avoiding the others, they were avoiding him. They threw only angry glances at him. Suddenly someone raised his voice. 

"So? And I say that bastard deserves being thrown into the ocean so that we don't have to look at his daft face any more!" It was Henry, who was standing with Harold, Robert, Percival and a former littlun named Phil and he was looking directly at Jack. Everyone fell silent at once. Maurice looked around, curious who would be the one to answer that challenge. Strangely, Jack stayed calm, looking almost bored. For a second, Maurice caught Ralph's gaze, but the other man looked away hastily. 

"Calm down, Henry." It was Johnny speaking, sounding very diplomatic. "You can sue him when we'll be rescued, if you need to."

"You bet I'll sue him!" It was Percival, his face red to the roots of his pale hair. He was a skinny and freckled young man, lanky, with watery eyes. "That plane was the newest we had! It'll ruin our business! I'll make you pay, and if that's the last I do."

"Bah!" Henry spat. "Sue him! Suing is for nancies! There is no evidence anyway! I say, let's do it right here and now!"

"But you can't do that!" Johnny looked genuinely shocked. "Violence is not a solution!"

"I'm not asking for you opinion, hippie." Harold, Robert and Percival laughed. Henry, who was not actually a very strong man, but rather sturdy and short, turned around to them, encouraged by their support. 

"We don't listen to hippies, don't we? Go back to smoking grass!" For the blink of an eye it seemed as if the long-haired man might get angry, but then he smiled. 

"Listen guys, I know we're all angry and stressed. But there really isn't anything we can do about it, is there? We're stuck on this island and it would be stupid to argue. Let's talk it straight: either we stay reasonable or this'll end rather unpleasant." An ugly grin appeared on Henry's face. He made threatening step towards Johnny, crossing his arms in front of his chest, spitting into the white sand. 

"The question is: unpleasant for who? Me or you?" Johnny frowned, obviously unwilling to take the challenge and aware that it would be him who would loose, but at the same time not ready to give up to such rudeness. He raised his eyes to the blue sky and sighed exasperatedly. In the very moment Henry growled and swung his fist, aiming at his jaw. But it connected with the arm of another man. Jack had, unnoticed by the two men, stepped in between them. 

"I think it was me you wanted to fight with?" Henry blinked stupidly at the redhead who was looking coldly down on him. Jack was tall, and had a hard edge to his face, and that dark look in his eyes that could be very intimidating at times. He was not a big-mouthed flower child. But Henry was not to give up in front of his new-found allies. Jack, taking his hesitation for fear, shrugged. 

"But you're only talk, huh?" He turned around, for a moment wholly old arrogant Jack again. In that moment Henry's fist hit his jaw. 

+++

Ralph had walked almost a mile along the beach, until the back of his neck was hot from a sunburn and his shirt was so sweaty it clung to him like another layer of skin. As soon as Henry and that boy, Johnny, had started to argue, he had silently left the meeting. He had found the pool where they had used to swim and play and for a moment had stood there unaware of the smile that was creeping over his lips. His fingers had touched the blood-warm surface of the water, and he had listened to his memories for a second. Then he went on, looking for a scar in the nature but only finding perfect green. He went on, along a part of the island where the beach was only a narrow streak of wet sand, and the huge palm trees craned their brown necks far over the sea. He sat down on one nearly horizontal log, leaning back and closing his eyes. From somewhere there came a breeze that carried the scents of the island to him, a scent of aromatic green bushes, with white little flowers... his thoughts wandered along that road, and he remembered Simon.

It is strange, Ralph thought, that even as an adult, when you remember friends from your childhood, they do not seem like children to you, but like real people. They do not seem young or silly or naive to you. Is that because you yourself become young again when you remember your childhood? Or is it because you adapt the memory you have of them to the adult mind you have become? The memory of Simon did awoke other images now, though. The image of a young man, with coarse and unruly black hair and the most gentle face, a little dreamy, who looked to the ground when he smiled and talked, but into the sky with shining eyes when he was silent. He remembered last night, with that boy close to him and talking softly, words that were soothing... He thought that he had been wrong, that Simon and Daniel were alike, because Simon, too, would say words that other boys would not say, and see things that others did not see, and he would be gentler and kinder than they were. 

"Fuck," someone cursed. Ralph's eyes flew open and his hands clawed the wood of the palm tree. He turned his head and saw, a few feet away and under his palm tree, Jack swaggering along the beach, holding his nose with one hand and his stomach with the other. Blood was all over his hand, already drying. It looked like his own blood, though. 

"What have you done?" Ralph asked and Jack looked up at him, his hand still over his nose. 

"Henby," he explained. "Dat bashdard hid be." Ralph frowned and had to smile weakly despite himself. 

"I don't understand you." He climbed down from his seat and looked the other man up and down. 

"Lie still, with your head back. And try to cool it," he advised. Jack threw him a look, curious and a little annoyed, but undressed his shirt with his free hand and drenched it with water from the sea, then held it on his neck and lay back in the shadow of the forest. Ralph stood there and watched him. After a while the bleeding became weaker. 

"I said, Henry hit me. I thought that little coward wouldn't do it, but he punched me from behind. Dirty trickster."

"He only hit you once?"

"He fucking not only hit me once! But Maurice and that little hippie, Johnny, they held him back – well you know Maurice." Yes, Ralph knew Maurice. The broad-faced reporter had the neck of a box champion and his hands did not look as if their sharpest weapon was a pencil, either. He looked down at Jack. Jack was more lanky and gaunt than actually strong. He didn't seem very sporty, and seemed to skip meals regularly. A white scar, maybe ten inches long, went from his left collarbone down his chest. 

"Stop staring," Jack said irritably. Ralph looked away and felt his ears become hot. 

"I'm thirsty," he said after clearing his throat. Jack looked at him strangely, but then he extended one hand, waiting to be helped to his feet. Ralph took the hand. 

Walking to the little river took some time. Jack felt that he should talk to Ralph, but it was Ralph who talked first. 

"Your little experiment is going down pretty fast. Physical violence on the second day...".

"My little...? Oh. Well... it's not about not being violent. I'm not so stupid to think people wouldn't be angry at me for doing this... And by the way, there was physical violence on the first day."

"..."

"But that you hit me... well I was actually glad about that. You scared me quite a bit in that plane. Looking at me like a monster."

"You were one. Back then. For me."

"Alright." Jack sighed. "But I'm not anymore?"

"You're not. But the Jack of then still is."

"..."

"I still don't quite understand. All of you seem so changed, just me... what did you do? Why did you become so different?"

"Me? You really want to know what I did?"

"Yeah... actually yes." Jack didn't answer instantly. He looked thoughtful until they reached the little river, he was silent when they cupped the water with their hands and drunk thirstily in the burning sun, sitting on their haunches and drinking like the first men, like animals. Ralph, whose thoughts were wandering, too, remembered a scene from a film about Indians in the jungle of Brazil he had once seen, where that little bronzed Indian, naked, with a quiver full of poisoned arrows around his brown back, drinks from the river, sitting on his haunches, cupping his hands and looking just like that. And he thought that, when stripped of their clothes and their houses and their cars, their language and their habits, all men are quite the same. Savage and civilised are only words, words without a meaning. 

And when they had finished drinking, Jack said that he was hungry, too, and they went and plucked fruits and ate them. And when they were sated, and it was afternoon and not quite as hot anymore, they went to the beach, to a place where they were alone, and sat down and watched the sea, like old friends. Jack thought that this was the way it should have been, that this was what he actually wanted, even back then. Ralph thought that he was tired, and content now, and all was right with the world for the first time in years, even though this was where his nightmare's took place, and where the ghosts of the past were very much alive, but they were not haunting him anymore, they were caressing him with their fingers of smoke. 

"I was very angry." Jack finally said, staring at the sea, as if he read the words from an invisible screen that was hanging there, right above the horizon. 

"I was very angry when that boat came, and that officer. It would have been the moment of my ultimate triumph. I even thought... if only they had come a minute later, an hour later! Then I would have.. I would have won. It wouldn't have been that bad to be rescued, if just I could have... killed you before. I hated you so much. Now I think that I hated you because you were anything I would have liked to be, fair, and nice and liked by everyone, and so mature and always right. I don't know if it was really like that. But I remember that I thought you were so terribly arrogant. You hadn't done anything, but everyone liked you. I thought it was unfair. Of you everyone thought 'oh, he looks nice, I want to be his friend,' but of me they only thought, 'oh, I don't want to be his enemy.' But who knows what were really the reasons."

"But we had to go on board of that ship, and wash and dress in clothes that were too big. And all the little children cried, and all the big ones, too, because they were little children, after all. Only I did not cry, and Roger did not cry. I remember how we looked at each other, 'Cry-babies,' his looks said, and 'Little children' my look said, and I think that was the moment that welded us together, that created a secret pact between us. That we would not become little children again. They could wash our faces and take the masks away, but we would always stay hunters. They brought us back to England and there I learned that my father had died, and my two big brothers, too. They were like you, Ralph, my brothers, I had always envied them. I remember how my mother cried, so happy to have me again, and I lay in her arms and thought 'Now I'm her favourite son.'"

"She did not send me back to the school I had been in before, because the school had been bombed down and burned to ruins. I was happy, I had always hated the choir. I was proud that I was the best, that I could sing C sharp, but that was all. First, many of us from the choir, who all lived in the same area, did not go to school at all. The war was just finished, and people were recovering, reconstructing their country. My mother always asked me about the island, about the plane and the crash, and she cried a lot, but I told her that she shouldn't cry, that everything was okay. I felt like a man. I met Roger, almost every day. He lived only a few streets away, and we had known each other before, but been that good friends, because he was a year younger than me. But when we were sent to school again, it was the same school. For a year we went to a local school, but then his parents decided to sent him to a boarding school, and I begged my mother until I was sent there, too. I remember how I felt so very relieved to leave my home, being the favourite son had not been that great."

"Was your family very rich?"

"Not before the war, but then my mother got a lot of money from the state and the military, because my father and my brothers had died in the war. It was a very expensive school we were sent to, many little snobs went there, and we were outsiders. But we didn't care, Roger and I, we didn't want to be their friends. We did a lot of forbidden things, and every time we were caught smoking or bullying lower class-men, I told the counsellor the story about my terrible trauma from the island. I even wrote letters to my Mum when I got bad grades, telling her about my nightmares and crap. As teenagers, Roger and I felt great, like we were somehow smarter than the rest, like we knew some secret that they knew not, and that we would never submit to their rules. The thing was only, that while I was a normal teenage rebel, a boy with some complexes from childhood and a really bad temper, Roger was a wholly different case. When I smoked cigarettes, he started smoking grass. When I thought that smoking grass was the worst thing there could be, and therefore the coolest, he came up with cocaine. When I smuggled a knife into the school, Roger already had a gun. He used to shoot birds with it. And one day we were in the forest together, smoking and skipping classes, he held that gun to his head and told me that he would shoot himself if we would ever stop being hunters. And I was scared but also thrilled and I said, yes, I would too."

"How old were you when that happened?"

"I was sixteen, I think, and he was fifteen. I had never had a girl, but I already talked about suicide. From then on it became only worse. Roger wanted us to become blood brothers, but he cut his vein so deep that he nearly bled to death, all over me. I was scared to death and at the same time thrilled and fascinated. It was always like that with him. A roller-coaster ride between fear and fascination, between love and horror."

"Love?"

"Huh... we were way too close. I didn't have any other friends, and everyone always talked about it, only I didn't suspect it, when it first happened. It was my seventeenth birthday, and we were drinking together and then he told me that he was mine, mine, and that if I should ever go away, he would kill himself and everybody else, and I said that I wouldn't go away, never, because he was mine, mine, and we were brothers, hunters. And I kissed him. Understand that, it was not some kind of boarding school helplessness, boys in puberty without girls, no, it was real. I thought he was like me, angry at the world. He wasn't. He was psychotic and deranged, that was all." Jack rubbed his eyes, feeling how his hands were shaking. His fingers unconsciously traced the scar on his chest. 

"I haven't ever told anyone. Damn, I wish I had a cigarette." He looked at Ralph, who had been listening, in turns shocked and appalled. 

"How did it end with Roger?"

"Are you disgusted? I was in love with a man. A murderer."

"I think I'm a little shocked."

"That's good. It was shocking. Well, it ended the only possible way. Roger killed himself. We had been together for a year, and it was the day of my graduation. At first I thought he was really stoned again, but he was sober. I told him that we would meet again when he was finished with school. That everything would be like before. He said nothing, and I thought it would be okay. We did... you know. He clawed my back, so much I bled, really bled, and I hurt him, too, I think, I hit him, and he smiled when I did so. He took his hands, his bloody hands, and smeared my blood all over his face. 'If you'll ever leave me,' he said. And 'I'm a hunter.' And he took his gun and shot himself, right in his head, in that bed, while I was still inside him, and his blood spurted all over my face, as if he wanted to paint me, too."

"My god. And that was how you realised...?"

"No. That was only the beginning. They had to carry me away, naked, to the infirmary, and that was the first time in six years that I cried, that night. I went to an asylum for two months or so. There I realised how fucked up my life had become. I missed Roger's burial. It must have been a quiet affair. I don't think his family loved him very much." He fell silent for a certain time, lost in the past. But then he rattled on, unable to stop. 

"Well, some time after that I went to the USA, to have a change of setting and all... have you ever been to America? No? Well, it's great... they're really strange but also nice, especially if you're a bit weird like me, because that's what they expect from Europeans. It happened in San Francisco, where I had started to study because I thought I maybe should study something. I had started with English, because I didn't know what to do, I didn't really have any interests and it seemed to me the easiest. The kids there were different from the boarding school kids I had known before. Not as snobby, and somehow... well in England the kids were like younger versions of their parents, back then, in 1954, but in America, they were changing. It appealed to me. It also was strange how suddenly I wasn't really an outsider anymore. People talked to me, girls even. It was strange. Part of me still rebelled against it, said that they were stupid kids, that I was smarter, was a hunter, and part of me was so relieved to finally be accepted. Like I was reborn. But I wasn't."

" It started when I had my first girlfriend. Her name was Lana, called Lanie, a very gentle girl, kind of sensitive, who thought she might become a writer, a poet. She was a little shy, pretty, but not the most popular one. Loving her was very... new. Awkward. I don't think I had loved anyone before. I hadn't loved Roger, or my parents in that way. Not in that way. I felt protective, and so vulnerable at the same time."

"Was she the one you told me about yesterday?"

"Yes. I found that I had difficulties to touch her. Whenever I touched her, I thought of Roger, and then I thought of her, what would be if she died. And it became worse. I imagined I would kill her, because I had to, because I was a hunter. That was the moment I realised what I had done. I didn't tell her of course. But I started to take drugs again, and to drink. She of course knew it, and she was kind of helpless, because she really loved me, that girl, and she didn't know what was up with me. One day she introduced me to a man, a psychiatrist, a friend of her parents. I agreed to meet him but I didn't. A month later I dumped her. I didn't tell her why. I don't think I ever saw anyone cry like that."

"Then I went back to England. I continued studying, English, later on Journalism. I quit, though, and started jobbing, drifting around in London... I was twenty-six, I think, when I went to an asylum once more, for half a year. That was the first time I really told anyone what happened on that... here, I mean. I already told you what the psychologist told me. Crap. It didn't help me at all. It continued like this. I saw how my friends at the university changed, how they started to believe that society could be changed, how they talked of peace and living together in new ways... I think you know the talk. And I could only laugh bitterly at them, but at the same time I so longed to be like them. You see, I hadn't changed very much. That was the time when I wanted to see you again. When I realised all my mistakes. I hated myself, but I didn't want to. And then I met Maurice. That's all. That's my story." 

Ralph nodded. It was a story like Jack, rough, and always a little unhappy, and at times cruel and angry. It was a story without aim, without morals. 

"Well, it's a lot more than my story." He smiled at Jack who looked weary and much older than thirty-two . It is also very different from my story, he thought. And yet he felt sympathetic with Jack. Because he understood now, that Jack had reasons for what he did. Because that had always been the thing that had frightened him most about Jack: that he seemed to be violent without an aim, cruel without reasons, chaotic. But a man with reasons, as strange as they might be, could be reasoned with. 


	4. Words

****

You've got the choice. 

****

Disclaimer : All characters except Simon's brother belong to William Golding, whom I deeply admire. No offence intended. 

****

Warnings: Everyone who was able to read the book without being scarred for life will be able to read this, too. That means: Violence, language, philosophical thoughts and angst. Slashy themes as well. Rating is PG-13 - R 

****

Summary: It's 1968, twenty years after the events of 'Lord of the Flies'. The survivors reunite and travel to the island once more, to have a little ceremony for the dead ones. But then, unforeseen things happen... have they learned or will the past repeat itself? 

****

Note: This chapter was (at least for me) exceedingly boring. It is too much talk and morals. But what can one expect from a person who has to learn her philosophy for an ethics test on Wednesday? (Ethics is one of my school subjects, don't ask.) Aristotle, Platon and Cicero are torturing my poor brain and this is my revenge on the world. Yay. 

Bagheera (who would also like to excuse for any terrible grammatical errors, for she is not a native speaker!)

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

4 Words

"Maybe we shouldn't intrude right now... I mean it looks like they're being rather personal right now..." Johnny looked doubtfully at Daniel and then back at the two men sitting close together under the palm trees. It was still light enough to see that they were talking peacefully, not something one would have expected Ralph and Jack to do. But Daniel shook his head. 

"It is important, and it will be good to talk to both at once."

As they came closer, Jack noticed them and fell silent. Ralph turned around, too. Johnny studied the two men. Ralph, who looked pretty average, still rather attractive, but not as energetic as the boy he had been, and Jack, who looked at lot like a man whose life has taken a few too many bad courses. Normally, he would not have given them a second glance, categorising them as boring, typical middle-class men. But knowing at least part of their history, he knew that this judgement was completely wrong. It reminded him of how dangerous it was to judge by appearances. 

"Hello," Daniel said and sat down next to them quite casually. Johnny followed his example. Sitting in a small circle like that, they reminded him of many of his friends, and he suddenly, irrationally longed for a guitar and some cigarettes. It could have been such a nice moment if there had been nothing to worry about. 

"Thank you, by the way, for earlier," he said to Jack. 

"It was you who stepped in for me, first." I didn't step in to defend you, Johnny thought but didn't say it. I tried to defend principles. 

+++

"I really don't get why Maurice would side with that bastard Jack! Where is he now, anyway?" Percival looked around angrily, his pale cheeks pink. He had been persuaded by Maurice to fly them to the island with his plane, or rather his father's plane, his father's _former_ plane!

"It's that bunch of eggheads, Perce. They always talk smartly, but they're all the same. Think they're something better than you 'n me." Henry pointed at Daniel and Johnny who where sitting in a small distance from the group. They were talking quietly and smiling now and then. "And that's what you get! They talk about how things must be solved peacefully, but what they mean is: things must be solved in their way. Or things must not be solved at all."

"The kids of today...," Harold shook his head in disdain. "My boys won't be going to university if it's going on like that. Drugs! Free love! They're running down our country, those radicals!" he ranted on. He was barely four years older than Johnny, but to him it felt like decades of age and wisdom separating them. 

"Only look at them," Percival spat. "Hair like a chick he's got!" He jerked his chin in Johnny's direction. The man had wheat coloured hair so long he could tie it back. 

"I'm sure that's not the only thing about him like a chick..." Henry smirked. They laughed dirtily. 

+++

"This isn't over," Daniel said. "Henry and his peers won't let go now. You said you wanted to show it would work differently. What are you going to do now?" Jack first frowned, then shook his head and smiled. 

"You actually believed me?" He asked incredulously. "It was only talk! I didn't think. There is nothing I can do. Or do you expect me to miraculously turn this into a happy end? What I meant when I said it could be done differently, was that _I_ could do it differently. It was just talking! Crap, stupid crap. If Henry thinks he'll be the big leader in this thing, there is nothing I can do about it."

"You could talk to him."

"Sure. Because he's so very reasonable."

"Jack is right," Ralph suddenly said. "There is no talking to people like Henry. Not the best reasoning won't change his actions. He doesn't care for what is reasonable or right. He cares only for what he wants."

"Like me," Jack said. "If he's really like that, then there is no way for than either to be stronger than him or submit in one way or another."

"Then be stronger."

+++

"But have you seen how I've got him!" Henry repeated the right hook and then the left. 

"Whoosh, bang! Right like this!"

"Yeah, that was a nice one," Phil agreed with satisfaction. 

"Wish you'd have let me, too," Percival added wistfully. 

"I wouldn't have thought that you'd get Jack so easily. Wouldn't have thought that, really," Harold said slowly. Robert nodded. 

"A pity somehow, isn't it? I would have liked to have a real opponent," Henry laughed boastfully. He run a hand through his oily black hair 

"But Maurice... uh..." Harold shook a hand like he'd burnt it and grinned at Henry. "He's way out of your league."

"Hah! That's what you think. But wait until he does this once more! Thinks he's the big boss here, doesn't he? He and his pack of little professors, pack of nancies, they are! All bark, no bite!"

+++

"Being stronger means violence. You understand that, do you?" Jack ventured. Daniel shook his head. 

"No, no, that can't be. If you are violent, then you submit to him, too."

"Guys you're seeing this all too pessimistic. It's not only Jack against Henry and his peers, is it?" Johnny looked at them meaningfully. "It's us, too, and it's Maurice. And even though maybe they sided with Henry, I don't think that Robert and Harold are totally unreasonable. They'll know where to draw the line. And Sam and Eric, I don't think they would side against us, either. I'm not to sure about the other ones... but even then we're already the majority."

"Ralph had the majority in the beginning, too," Jack retorted. 

"But we're not kids anymore. We won't be persuaded by food and fun anymore, will we?" Johnny asked hopefully. He simply could not imagine grown-up people being so selfish and stupid. But Ralph shook his head darkly, and Jack laughed bitterly. 

+++

Actually Sam and Eric had not been quite comfortable with sitting together with Henry, Percival and their little group, but it was still better than sitting around alone. After the fight in the morning, things had cooled down pretty fast. Ralph and Jack had disappeared to God knows where, and so had Maurice. Daniel and Johnny, who where obviously not welcome with Henry and his group, had at first been sitting in a little distance together, then had walked away when the evening came. The day had seemed to stretch endlessly. Just what had they been doing all day when they had been children? This island was probably the most boring place on the whole planet. Now, if there had been some girls in bikinis or a little music or at least a TV, it would have been a nice enough holiday. But only sitting and talking was not Sam and Eric's idea of fun. 

So they had come to the bigger group of men that included Henry, Percival, Harold, Robert and Bill, as well as some of the younger men they knew even less. They found that one could talk quite nicely with Bill about any kind of sports, which was their favourite subject as Sam was a physical education teacher at a public school, and Eric had started a career as a long distance runner after his studies. As long as the talk was about that, or about women – the three of them were not married – everything was okay. It was actually more comfortable to talk with these men than with Maurice or Johnny for example, whose talk was always a little to sophisticated or with Jack and Ralph who didn't seem to talk a lot at all. 

But every now and then somebody would make a remark that was not so light in nature. Something like calling Daniel and Johnny who were sitting together in quiet companionship a few yards away 'Faggots' or 'Nancies'. Something like talking about how they would make Jack pay, how they would ' squash his head' and 'gut him alive.' Something like calling Daniel and Johnny and Jack and Ralph a 'case for the loony bin altogether.' 

Then they would look at each other, only for an instant, uncomfortable but not quite able to say so. 

+++

"If all people were like you, Johnny..."

"But look at our society, man! I mean, it may not be perfect, democracy and stuff, there are injustices and corruption and double morals, but still people do what's reasonable more or less. There is such a thing as civilisation, after all. If people were as bad as you two seem to think, then how would a society like ours ever exist?" He was angry, angry to have to defend a system that he did not believe in, angry to see that obviously no one had ideals like him. But Jack didn't need very long to reply. 

"You really think that people in our society do what they do because it's reasonable? I don't think so. I think what they want is not the best for everyone, but food and fun. Democracy and rules and order are just the easiest way to get to food and fun, or so it seems to them."
    
    "Maybe we are like that. But there are some things I wouldn't do, even for food and fun as you put it. There are some things I would sacrifice my health and happiness for, myself even. There are people like us who can control themselves."

"That's not the point," Jack growled. 

"What Jack wants to say, Johnny, is this: of course there are people who think and act like you do, or like we do. But they're not everyone. Food and fun, as he puts it, is the simpler thing out of the two. So the majority of people acts that way. Living like you suggest to, is tough and dangerous in our world." Ralph said tiredly. It had come out of him like a sigh or last breath, the essence of his conviction. The world of humanity was a deadly place, a teeth and claws place. He looked heavily at them. He had never said this aloud, nor written it down, nor ever thought it out. Now he got up, walked away with his feet shuffling slowly in the sand. The three other men looked after him, overwhelmed and downcast. What he had said was final.

Jack rubbed his eyes and then laid down, on the sand without a pillow or blanket. It was a hard bed and he liked it. There is no such thing as lying on the earth, the real ground. It is a feeling of fulfilment, of being one with something greater. It was like the hunt had been, only that it was calmer, more perfect. It was not the flow, but the stillness. He heard Johnny and Daniel talking quietly, but he was unable to listen. His mind felt raw and jittery images of his youth mixed with the images of the day. Roger was in his head, and wouldn't go away. Even though those years with Roger hadn't been happy – in fact they had been one big celebration of their common anger and unhappiness – they still were the most outstanding part of his life. It was the feeling of being wide-awake, of being alive, of being close, so very close to the meaning of it all... Ever since, his life had been filled either with longing or indifference.

"... and then things start to glow, in a golden light, that rises like haze and swirls..." 

"And there is sound... a buzzing... like the blood in your ears... but so much ... lighter... and then the things talk to me... ."

"Does it scare you?"

"No... it scares other people. I faint, sometimes, or they tell me I'm having seizures or I'm getting spacey. But I don't... I don't want it to go away. You wouldn't want to live without dreaming, would you? It would be like that, or like blinding myself. But I have learned not to show it to everyone." 

"You shouldn't hide yourself. There are people who actively search what you got. I think it is beautiful."

"Thank you..."

"What for?"

"..."

"Dan.."

Jack opened his eyes a little, unable to stop his curiosity. The two were sitting very close, leaning against each other, but he could not quite see what they were doing. He got up very silently, trying to get away unnoticed. But suddenly Johnny turned his head and saw him standing. Daniel, too, flinched. Jack quickly made a reassuring gesture with his hands. 

"Didn't want to disturb you...". He flashed them a short smile and walked away. The two men grinned at each other with embarrassment. 

+++

He almost hoped to find Ralph somewhere along the beach, he didn't feel like sleeping after this and needed someone to talk to. Normally he could spend whole nights awake and sitting in the dark, watching the lights from the street under his window, or following the cracks in the ceiling with his eyes, thinking all kinds of things, making up reasons for his life. But here on the island he felt agitated, like the island was somehow a source of energy, biding him to do something. He didn't think he would find Ralph somewhere else but on the beach, Ralph had never liked the interior of the island as much, had always spend most of the time on the open beach, but when he had walked a few minutes, he saw the light of a fire shine red and warm across the beach. It made sense, the other had lighters and why should they not make a fire?

He turned to the forest, quite sure that Ralph wouldn't have one to the others, even if maybe he would have been welcome there. The forest was thick and dark and everywhere there was moisture. He was aware that there might be spiders and poisonous snakes in there, something he hadn't feared as a child, but he ignored this and fought his way through the sultry air until with a ripple of cool drops of dew, he stepped out in the moonlight. The ground was suddenly sandy, with hard and dry grass and pointy stones. Little bushes and big rocks created a landscape of shadows and lurking, crouching beasts. Crickets trilled loudly. He needed a minute or two until he could make out one of the crouching shadows as Ralph, lying flat on the ground. He seemed to be watching his right hand in fascination. 

"Hi," Jack said and sat down next to him. 

"What do you want?" Ralph didn't look up from his hand. Jack could see now that dozens of ants were running over it, as Ralph had placed his hand in one of their little 'streets'. 

"Nothing. Just got away from Johnny and Dan. Wanted to give them some privacy."

"Privacy?"

"They were getting close. Not that I mind..."

"Close?"

"Yes. Close as in close."

"Hm."

"It's just not what you need to see when you're single and brooding about lost loves. What are they like?" he added as an afterthought. 

"Tickling. And it stings when they bite."

"What? I meant your family not the ants."

"Oh." Ralph looked up at him, obviously he was caught off guard. "Um... nice."

"You don't want to talk about them?"

"Not really. There's not much to say about my family... Lizzie, that's my daughter, she's a kid, well you know what little girls are like, I guess... ".

"That's strange."

"Strange?"

"Most father's I know are all crazy about their kids. Nobody would say something like 'you know what little girls are like...' . It doesn't sound too happy to me... What about your wife?"

"Merridew, I don't want to talk about this right now." Jack grimaced. So listening to his life-story was okay, but sharing his own was not. 

"So what do you want to talk about?"

"Ants. Nothing, Jack, I came here to be silent."

"Should I go?"

"No. Just... just be silent for a while."

Jack sighed and searched for a more comfortable position to sit on the hard ground. Thorns were piercing through his thin shirt and he felt something small creep up his leg, hopefully an ant. The thin moon was producing eerily much silvery light, light that crept into his eyes and his thoughts, that paralysed him, yet prevented him from sleeping. At some point Ralph rolled over and away from the crawling ants, curling in a fetal position on the ground. The moonlight was on him, too. It shone in his tangled hair, played on the thin curve of his weary mouth. Desperation rose in his body like the flood, strangled and drowned him. It was not easier to watch this than to watch lovers, for the moonlit sleeper multiplied his loneliness until his eyes burned. Yet he did not close them. 


End file.
